For the Life of Me
by LilyMyDeer
Summary: New and Improved version of my old story, Looking for Light! Adalina Rose has had a tough life. Well...that's an understatement. With crazy scientist "parents" what else would she expect? Definitely not finding a home in a group of heroes, and love in a certain God of Mischief. (Sorry I suck at summaries, its better than it seems, cross my heart :))
1. Of Life Stories and Lovely Personalities

**Adalina's POV**

I slowly blink my eyes open, feeling them weigh down, protesting. Darkness surrounds me and traps me within my small room, if you could call it that. A faint light streams through the crack under the door which gives me a better glimpse of the square room that I have stored into my visual memory. I have been forced to live in and tolerate the pitiful accommodations of the meager room that I have the _privilege _to have called mine ever since I was a small child.

A cot sits across the cramped space, about four feet from where I lay on the cold, hard, dusty floor. Several feet from the edge of the cot is a not too terribly big cardboard box that contains my small amount of clothes including two pairs of hand-me-down, two sizes too big tee shirts, two pairs of baggy pants, torn and scuffed sneakers, under garments, and holey socks. Not much of a closet is it? _Hah…nope!_ I have been so _graciously _given a very small, metal, wash tub and toilet cramped in the corner other corner opposite that of the cot and box._ Of all things, and they installed a toilet. Huh, I guess they were having a good day. That or they were completely and utterly off their rocker..._Other than that, my possessions are limited to soap, shampoo, and toothpaste that are replaced whenever my _parents_ feel like getting me some more. One time I had to go without for a week or two because they _forgot_ to bring me some._ Yeah right._

I have no personal possessions, my parents, though I hate to call them that, told me I wasn't good enough to own anything. _Me? Look in the mirror honeys. _They never cease to tell me that I am not worthy of anything but necessities, although by the way they act I doubt they even want me alive. That is probably true actually. The only time they come to my room is to order me down to the lab or to make sure I'm not dead… And they only care about the latter because I have the privilege of being the test subject in their experiments. That's encouraging isn't it? That is the only reason they keep me. For all I know, if they found an experiment successful, then I could be dead within five minutes afterwards. Again, how simply encouraging right?

Come to think of it, it seems as if in my parents' minds I am just a worthless toy that is used and broken for a child's entertainment. I am of no use but one, a toy in a cruel and inhumane experiment. Though in order to know the full story, one must look at the entire picture. Child's entertainment is what they called me one time… but in all actuality, they called themselves children without realizing it. _And thus no truer statement has been proclaimed_.

Some people, I would assume, think life is a story that always has a happy ending. Well, newsflash! It really isn't! Humans, though advanced in some ways, are unintelligent beings. Many take things for granted; whether it is family and friends, objects, their own happiness and love… All of these things seem to come naturally to some, but what happens when it is taken away? Nothing. Life is left bland and uninteresting. Coarse and dry like a cracked plain that hasn't seen water or rain, the water and rain that make it thrive. I like to think the water and rain represent the everyday sentiments and things that the human race just passes by without a second glance because they think it will always be there waiting for them. That, I have learned quickly, is not the case. In a sense, life is taken for granted.God, I sound like some philosophy freak_… Yeah, but you've had, let's see… seventeen years to think just to pass time? That sounds about right. _

There are a lot of things I want while I am still alive and breathing. I want to know comfort and love and kindness. I've never relished in the warmth of a mother's hug or the reassurance of a father's words, both of which seem amazingly magnificent. I often dream of masculine chocolate brown eyes that shine with love and laughter and a playful smirk that makes me wake up with a smile each morning I dream of it. Then there are nights in which I will find a reverie in a flash of warm red hair, like a mix of fire and the brightest of pumpkins; and accompanying the fiery hair is a toothy smile so cheery and affectionate that makes me want to dream and dream forever. The images pull me in like a mother's hug I will never receive and the emotional value of them seem to remind me that my life isn't over; that there is something after this dire excuse for living. They make me hope and yearn for the chance that I do have someone out there looking for me. Maybe someone out there loves me and wants to see me….But that is a one in a million chance. It's almost laughable.

The dream of the eyes and smiles are almost enough to comfort me on the harshest of days in this hell hole I take residence in. _Ha! _To think that I once thought this place as my home! If I could turn back time I would go slap some sense into myself for thinking such outrageous thoughts as accepting this house as a _home._ Most people would love to have a house as big as this one, what with the supposed openness and modern facilities that are pleasing to the eye. Yes, I can see that, but with the merciless and cruel encounters I have had here, I don't share the same opinions as the majority. Then again, when have I ever? When will I ever?

Truly, it is a nice space… one of which many would be proud of claiming ownership of, at least that of which I have actually seen. The floors made of beautiful, stained wood and the walls painted a lovely crimson give an aristocratic aura to the house. At least, apart from the closed off back hallway that I know by heart. _Those_ claustrophobic walls are a miserable grey and are accompanied by dulled and creaky russet floor. _Why? _Oh that is thanks to yours truly. I feel so closed in and smothered when I make my way down to the basement for my "checkups". _Right. Because I'm not smart enough to see through their shallow lies. Checkups…Ha! _The closeness of the hallway and my room is nothing compared to the bright and shining white openness that is the basement though.

The basement is off limits to everyone, apart from my parents and me; and that is only when I am forced downstairs for the appointments. If one were to walk down the stairs, they'd find themselves face to face with one of the most sterile and advanced looking locations they'd ever lay eyes on. And hell, it's so white and bright it may as well be the _last_ thing they see. Although it seems clean, my recollections of things that have happened in that environment are anything but. The phrase 'Appearances can be deceiving' is exactly right in this instance. To think it is a nice basement is ludicrous in itself. The spotless white walls and floor along with the cold, sleek metal that fashions the counter tops and tables have burned into my mind. And that is just the beginning of it.

Equipment that ranges from monitors to stretchers to wires; the variety is deadly magnificent, quite literally. Tools of the kind one may find in a hospital are placed in neat stacks, columns and rows according to the extent in which they are used. I can quite effortlessly picture the vivid images of bright white lights that very nearly render me blind when I step foot in the basement. Then again, I guess a better term for the space is laboratory. As much as I hate to confess this, I see needles and syringes more than anything else, even in my dreams. The sharp pointed metal sticks attached to plastic tubes are filled to distinctive lines with substances that promise pain or temporary unconsciousness. They lay in straight lines across of a table at the edge of "my" exam bed. _Yeah, bed. More like restrained torture table._

At times I will overhear my parents talking of a superhuman serum or some preposterous idea like that. A superhuman serum, now that is an odd goal is it not? Then again, it is the norm for me to find most things interesting, seeing as there isn't much for me to find thought-provoking. Things one and two saw to that; that is, having nothing to find peculiar or having anything to look forward to. Yay them, they actually succeeded in creating another way to make my life miserable! It didn't take me long to realize that the serum was the very thing that explained the constant experimentation on me. Still though, I don't understand how they could just use me like for such reasons. _Yes you do, idiot. They are sadistic monster, that's why. _

Sometimes the syringes draw my blood, and of late, they remind me of a vampire sucking the blood from its prey. It really isn't a laughing matter, especially when it is the bane of my existence, but I do need something to amuse my lonesome. I particularly despise how the cold metal ends precariously stab my skin, sometimes freezing it, burning it, or just causing intense discomfort. After certain engagements, my muscles will ache to the point where they feel as if they are stretching beyond my bones and skin just to be snapped back to its original position. It is torture. The agony is unbearable, but what else should I expect from maliciously vile animals?

They show no emotion, my parents; except for anger towards me and excitement when they think they've made progress in their experiments on me. If someone were to ask them if they had a daughter, they would deny it without a second thought. Do they care about me? Do they know how much they are hurting me mentally, emotionally, and physically? Have they ever? The questions always used to filter through my brain's thought process day and night when I was younger, but I now know the answer to every one of those queries. That answer is a clear-cut no. They get me down to the basement, whether it is by dragging me from my room or me seemingly going willingly down into that horrendous lab; though the "willingly" part of the latter is most definitely not the case though it may seem that way at times. They pay no mind to my pain, the exception being if it were from supposed progress they have made. But that only triggers appalling excitement.

They always stab me with the needles though, that is why the images and sensations of them are so etched into both my memories and present thoughts alike. No matter how hard I protest or how hard I try to resist, there are always the slender tubed metal knives that force constituents into my bloodstream. There is always insurmountable torment, no matter how much I desire there wasn't.

When I was younger my parents said it was to rid me of my "condition". I've always been reasonably perceptive, so it didn't take me long to grasp the fact that it was a complete and utter lie. I guess it is a natural born instinct for me to be wary of everyone; the incidents with my parents did nothing to help the matter. But the fact remains that my parents had in fact lied. I never had a condition; it was just a feeble attempt to get me to believe that there was a humane reason behind the torture. However, once they realized I wouldn't believe them so easily, lab time was extended and they began to treat me worse and worse.

I am just a test subject for an experiment they make no progress at; at least _I _can see that. Sometimes I wonder if they just harm me for kicks; they seem like the type to find immense enjoyment in juvenile suffering. _I mean, have they given me reason not to think that? No, so I could honestly care less if that is my conclusion. It does seem highly probable does it not? _My parents are ruthless, and it is quite easy to understand that. Sometimes I wonder if they are capable of love, or even have the smallest bit of sentiment.

Dr. Oliver Palmer and Dr. Jenna Palmer, also known as my parents, are well known scientists. They are in fact intelligent, I will give them that much… the vast majority of the world simply cannot comprehend the things they work on, only marvel at it. They are awful though, however I doubt the human population knows this. I have never known love, and they have never offered it. I have lived in seclusion with my thoughts as my only companion up until the day in which I found a pen and notebook that things one and two had written in. I slipped it in my pants pocket and thanked the dear lord in heaven that they did not find out I had it. They both went ballistic for days trying to find it of course, but they never could. I had it, and they would never expect little old insignificant Adalina Rose Palmer to have something so important.

I found some fascinating things in that journal that intrigued me. Now see, I may be very secluded but I am not clueless. My parents almost always have the news channel on the television while they experiment on me for what reason, I don't know. I overheard something about Manhattan, somewhere not too far from where I live, getting attacked by some sort of alien army. I was in complete shock at first. _Who would've thought? Aliens… really?_ I mean, that wasn't some sort of alien apocalypse was it? Anyways, the next thing I saw was something about super heroes that called themselves the Avengers. _Classy. _The Avengers were apparently a group of heroes who saved New York from aliens called the Chitauri. I remember seeing this huge debate about whether or not they were guilty for the destruction of Manhattan and whatnot. It honestly spiked my interest due to the fact that it wasn't something _anyone _saw every day, and to top that off, it surely wasn't something I would see on a daily basis.

Then something else spiked my interest. A man in a spangly type of outfit who had the title of Captain America was a sort of "super soldier" from World War II. Seemingly, he had been infused with some substance that basically remodeled him into a super human. Again, not something you see every day… you know, if you aren't _me._

Now, back to the "journal of information" I nicked from my parents. I've recently read that they were trying to recreate the serum used on the Captain. Every line, even the margins, was filled to the brim with letters and numbers of formulas, as well as lengthy notes that tried to converge into a probable solution. I spent days and nights closely reading everything I could in order to fill my brain with information that could possibly lead to the answer as to why I had been dealt this agonizing hand in life. After having read the journal from front to back, I had an epiphany; What if this superhuman serum was what my parents were trying to recreate, using me as a subject? Of course, they don't care about my well-being, only the fact that there was a possibility that immense fame and fortune were involved. Everything had finally made sense: why I have spent countless waking hours in the lab in order for them to find a solution that would ultimately bring the more wealth and fame, why I have been used and beaten and broken like a toy for _years…._It all made sense, and it pissed me off. They had no right to use me as an outlet for their own sadistic uses! No right at all!

Looking at the journal again as I finally fully sit up, I read it for information and recreation, seeing as I have nothing else to do. There are a multitude of equations and notes as well as theorems and facts littered like specks of dust on a rug throughout the journal. There is a beauty in being underestimated, though I would assume most people would disagree. You can get away with most anything as long as you are careful, that of which I have mastered long ago. To try an ignore the pain the adults bring about on me I listen in on their conversations and try, when not momentarily paralyzed by the test serums that are given to me, to look around at notes and words, numbers and letters to gain knowledge on anything I possibly can.

The visuals help keep me from snapping. That is an additional skill I have mastered over the years: hiding my true emotions. If I were to let them show, then there would most definitely be a chance of extreme punishment for me. However, I can feel my resolve slowly, ever so slowly, crumbling into bits and pieces. Once my resolve does in fact break, then I will snap, more than I ever have before. _That would be downright awful, yet amusing…. _I try keeping the emotions locked in a stronghold of a dam inside of me, but sometimes, I do crack under all of the pressure building up.

On the off chance that I do in fact shatter, it is not very pleasant, for me or the witch twins. Insults fly back and forth, though I have to restrain myself from not stooping to their level of vile physicality. Things are thrown, slaps, punches, the occasional metal tool; all have trained me to have better reflexes, that of which are very advantageous in instances such as these. Over the years I have educated myself in the art of keeping my trap shut; that is, when I _want _to. It has very recently gotten to the point where I know without a doubt that I will not be able to keep up my false appearance of slight sassiness for much longer and I will finally come out with a very open snarky bitch outlook and not be afraid to say what needs to be said. With what the overuse of harsh insults and excruciating experimentation every other day, the day in which I finally have had enough has long since been coming.

Even though the insults and the physicality of the witch twins' games genuinely hurt both mentally and physically, I have been able to build a wall of the most impenetrable stone and mortar around my heart that so much of what they say and do have little effect on me anymore. Slowly over the past 3 or do years, it seems that the real me is coming out to play. The one who shoots insults right back at the animals, the one who tries as hard as she can to defend herself, the one who knows for a fact that she won't be putting up with things one and two's _pissy attitudes_ for very much longer because she will find a way out.

As I find my way out of my thoughts, I ease out of my temporary parlayed state that I have been in since I was none too gently thrown into my room after hours of torment in the lab. I sluggishly stretch my arms and legs, sending sharp bursts of fire rippling through my bones. Cursing the name of Oliver and Jenna Palmer and wishing them dead while sitting up and massaging my temples distracts me from the pain and cracking of my spine. _Do they have at least one good bone in their body? _No. No they do not, and anyone who says otherwise is likely to get a kick in the behind from yours truly.

Last night, my parents called- scratch that- screamed for me to get downstairs to the basement. I could practically _see _the agitated glint in their eyes and thought it would be a pretty nice chance for me to mess with them. I didn't want to go to the torture chamber again anyways so I stayed in bed, pretending to be asleep, all the while internally smirking with mischief. But all good things must come to an end.

Oliver stomped up the stairs and slammed the door to my room open so hard I was sure it splintered. "Did you not hear me calling for you, little girl?" he demanded.

I remember the joy I got out of playing the sass master card when I had replied with a smile and a "Yes I did, but I just didn't care. Or is your head so far up your butt that you can't figure that much out _Ollie_?" I breathed out a laugh as I remembered that little comment.

Oliver Palmer had taken offence to that and went so red in the face he looked like he would explode. His eyes took on a darker tint as he shouted, "Shut your mouth you worthless thing! Do not disrespect me again!" _Ha! Disrespecting him? Please._

"Well what if find it quite amusing to _disrespect," _I had formed air quotations as I said this, "you Ollie. It is rather laughable to see how much little insignificant Adalina can get under the big, bad scientist's skin," I had finished with a sarcastic flair and a toothy grin.

I touch my face lightly, remembering the loud smack that had echoed across the room. I had looked back to my father with a slight sneer lining my face. "Must you go to such lengths? Don't you already do enough?" I had said deadly calm.

My father replied in a low tone, "Don't you ever use that tongue with me again. You will respect me. Understand?" I snickered as I think of my next reply.

Once again smirking at Oliver, I had confidently stated, "Yes, I understand, I know English. But that doesn't mean I have to respect you, and I will use that tongue with you whenever I want to."

Oliver had had enough so he grabbed my wrist and begun to drag me down the hallway to the door to the basement. I wince as I remember the cool, metal stairs hammering my back as I was hauled down to the bottom of the stairway. _Yeah. Ouch._

He had pulled me up from the last step and practically threw me on the examination table. As he strapped me on, Jenna took a needle filled with blue liquid and jammed it hard into my right bicep, so hard that I remember a spot of crimson seeping from the point. Oliver had glared at me and stabbed my left bicep with an identical needle. My vision had started going fuzzy with pain and my limbs burned for what seemed like hours, but I was used to it so I had just closed my eyes and waiting for it to end. My last conscious thought had been of pride that shone in those masculine, brown eyes that offer me much comfort in my dreams.

Snapping out of my recollection, I rub my eyes and groan. I begin to stand up, although shaky on my legs, and start to walk slowly around the cramped space of my room. I walk over to the cot and sit down again, resting my already weakened limbs. Just as I was about to lie down again I hear Oliver yelling from somewhere in the house, commanding me to be in the lab in two minutes or to suffer the consequences… like I haven't heard that one before. I consider staying in my room, wanting to piss Ollie off again, but decide against it, not wanting to stretch it too terribly much. _Don't want to risk ultimate death this time do we Adalina? _No. I would rather not.

I walk to the door and open it to find the hallway almost leering at me, like it is speaking to me. _Adalina sweetie, it's a hallway. Hallways don't talk. _ True. Shaking it off, I step out into the even chillier air and begin my way down to the lab from hell where the witch twins are waiting for me. I am so not in the mood for this today, then again…when am I ever? Still, I just feel like letting off steam today. A mix between a smile and a smirk makes its way onto my face as I raise my head and begin to walk more confidently. They are going to wish they never even called me down today. Well, all I can say to them is a not so sincere _good luck._


	2. Surprises Makes the Best Presents

A/N- Ok, ok. Go ahead. Choose your weapon of choice. Axe, gun, knife? I swear anything. I am an awful, awful person for not updating in months! That is completely unacceptable! I am so sorry. I truly did try and find time to write, but I have been so caught up in school stuff it isn't even funny. Please forgive me and I hope you keep reading the story.

Disclaimer (to count for the last chapter too!): I, sadly do not own the avengers. The only things I own are my OC's.

Adalina: Must you make me wait so long to show up again? I mean really. I am so much more important than that right MRG?

Me: Yes, Lina you are. Just wait!

Adalina and Me: Enjoy the chapter lovely readers! Loki love to you all!

Adalina: Who's Loki...?

Me: Patience, young one, patience! Now on with the story!

Adalina's POV -

A grand entrance is always the best entrance, don't you agree? You know, one with the strutting and kisses and stuff? Well friends; that is exactly what I am going to do. What better way to piss off the already pissy docs?

I modestly walk into the lab and- psh. Nah. I damn near swagger into that room with a smirk on my face and a mischievous glint in my eyes. "Hello lovies! Time to party," I sarcastically declare, putting my hands on my hips.

Who's to say I don't have pretty darn good things going for me today? Right. Them. I can practically see steam rolling out from their ears in anger that I have one-upped them this time. They are still under the impression that I am going to comply with whatever their precious plans have in store for me today, and that is a plus. Surprises make the best presents in my opinion.

"Just get on the table, girl," Jenna spits back at me. Ooh, charming.

I scoff and reply, "Oh come now Jenny, don't be such a stick in the mud. It is not becoming, is it? Lord only knows how much of a lady you like to be." Her angular face grows red in half a second with either anger or humiliation. Must've set a new record. Yay, you! I swear, you could cook an omelet on that oh so attractive rat face of hers.

Oliver bristles as I once again smirk. I sure do love smirking, oh the joy of exasperating the witch twins. "Do not disrespect your mother like that you horrendous piece of filth. You have no right to-," I cut him off, shaking my head and tsk'ing.

"My mother, you say? That bitch is not and never will be my mother, or you my father. You two have some serious issues if you think for one second that I would actually respect you after everything you have done to me," I reply, trying to get a hold on my anger.

It never fails does it? Another loud smack echoes throughout the room at the same time that my face heats and throbs with pain. "Oh very typical. Hitting your daughter isn't all that nice you know? People could actually hate you for doing something like that oh High and Mighty Ollie. Chances are it probably won't earn you any brownie points, just saying," I smart back with style. I swear it's like the guy takes imminent joy in being violent.

"I would never make the mistake of making you public you little-," he starts, infuriated. Jenna just sits back and watched the entire thing with a sneer painting her lips.

"Oh come now daddy, I actually thought you liked being the center of attention? Or are you too ashamed to show what your little escapades actually mean?" I laugh lightly as I make a pouty face, my eyes wide, bottom lip sticking out and all, "I thought you loved me! Oh no, my life is over." Boo hoo. What's next? A kick to the gut or a-

A sharp kick to my stomach brings me back to my senses. I spoke too soon. "Lovely," I cough as I attempt to hoist myself off of the cold tile. I don't have much time to recover before I am being harshly lifted onto my feet by the thin collar of my shirt, causing it to rip in the process.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Never speak to me that way again, girl," Oliver starts before I once again cut in, enraging him further. Oh how I just love this.

"Now, now honey bunches; let's not get your panties in a twist. It might cut off your jewelry. You know if you even have any…" I trail off as he looks at my amused face in astonishment. Provoking the Queen Bee is such fun!

"Keep your trap shut you skank," An incensed Jenna Palmer shouts at me, her heels clacking loudly on the floor as she strides her way over to me with a needle in her hand.

I ever so slightly pale at the sight but continue anyways, not wanting them to get the best of me. "Oh you're one to talk aren't you? Don't think I don't hear your ridiculous heels hitting the floor of the stairs a night a week just before you walk out the door. Who are you getting it on with hmm? The police chief maybe? I've heard he's a man whore. Huh Ollie, maybe that's why no one has found me yet! Your wife is a slut!"

Jenna's mouth gapes open in a hilarious fashion. Oliver is next to her with the same expression. Who's a winner? Not them! I laugh in extreme amusement, watching their faces imitate that of a fish.

Oliver recovers quickly, stalking over to me and grabbing my hair. He drags me roughly over to the table and retrains me with tight, cold metal cuffs. Getting in my face, he growls, "You must have a death wish sweetheart. Not very smart if you ask me." He jerks back and walks over to the counter holding the various types of needles and serums. Not this again…

I struggle against the restraints as Oliver calmly, right, treads over to me with a huge ass syringe with a light purple liquid inside in his right hand. "You know lovies; I'll always be up for more of your games. Get over yourselves," I spit out just before Jenna shoves her forearm on my neck and Oliver unforgivingly stabs the sharp stick into the right side of it, just by the nape.

Wincing as I feel the stinging pain, I blink several times, hoping the blackness in my vision will quickly recede. The soft thuds sounding in my ears begin to relate to the crash of drums beating relentlessly in my head. Not freaking cool man, I'm going to have a killer headache.

The stinging increases tenfold to a burning fire sensation that, once again, is extremely unpleasant. My skin feels as if it is crawling with tendrils of burning ash and flicks of fire torturously crawling up my arms and into my muscles and brain. The scorching heat in my throat irritates me to a point that I finally let an ear piercing, inhuman screech. I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip, drawing blood in the process of trying to show those witches that they can't win. However, fate just decides it hates me because at that moment my spine feels like it is fracturing and breaking, burning and stretching into two separate ones. A shriek once again flies from my mouth and into the lab. Damn, when you get pain you get all of it dontcha? They best be glad they soundproofed the room.

My back arches as my body convulses in shreds of torturous pain and misery. There goes my plan of not showing any weaknesses. What in the world did they put in this stuff? Acid? My breathing becomes rabid and I hear the worried mutters of the lovies. I weakly tilt my head over to where Oliver and Jenna are standing, wildly gesticulating at each other.

"She…didn't know…doing! What did we…serum…jail…Stark," I hear them whisper to each other over the pounding in my ears. Why the hell are they talking about Tony Stark? How do biatch uno and dos know him? Well, I don't know Adalina, they are famous scientists. Tony Stark is a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist… do the math oh intelligent one!

How I manage to be so freaking sarcastic when I am being ripped from the inside out is past me. I don't even try to question this anymore. Still though, them talking about Stark in such a way is kind of…odd, to say the least.

Another scream rips out of my throat as I convulse again and shudder violently as a tear leaks out of my eye. I haven't cried since I was nine.

Oliver and Jenna slowly make their way over to me, seeing as I have calmed down from the extremity of a few moments ago.

"Did it work Oliver?" Jenna asks her husband with a crease on her forehead. Oh no, she and Oliver are not worried about me, they're worried about if their precious experiment worked or not. Talk about pathetic.

"I'm not entirely positive. She has never had a reaction similar to that ever since we took her and began experimenting for the project Jenna…" What?! Took me…probably from an orphanage or foster home. Still, I thought they were my actual parents.

Do I really have someone out there who misses me? Loves me even? Adalina don't get your hopes up. Those are childish dreams.

"We need to leave her here. The whole experiment was a waste," Oliver spits in disgust at me, "She always has given us problems Jenna. There is no point in keeping the worthless thing anymore. She'd be dead in a few days tops, in her condition. Pack what you need and we'll be gone in ten minutes. Understand?"

I see Jenna nod and they make their way out of the room, not once looking back at me. If one good thing has come to me these past sixteen years, it is knowing that I do have real parents out in the world somewhere. Maybe they are searching for me? Do they remember they even have a daughter? What are their names? Do they still love me?

My vision starts to speckle and fade into nothingness, a black void. I know my time is almost here and I won't be on this hellish planet any longer. I'll finally be free.

But will you really ever be free? I don't know. But hey… when have I ever known shit about myself?

My breathing gets very shallow and my ears begin to pop and crackle. As my world goes black for the last time, I whisper to no one, "Thank you." And I fall limp.

Pepper Potts POV-

I'm in the middle of an excruciatingly boring meeting when I go into my own little world of pain and sadness. Even after years and years Tony still isn't the same. Neither am I. Sure I go about my business and so does he, but it feels as if a hole has been ripped in my chest, one that I can never fill back up again. Even with Tony here with me. Not that he is any better personally.

Ever since the incident we have been broken. Yes, we both put on masks to conceal what we truly feel. I am still the professional, witty, and affectionate Pepper Potts, and Tony is still a sarcastic son of a bitch, but it isn't fully true. Not after we lost her.

My phone ringing with the AC/DC 'Thunderstruck' ringtone, thanks sweetie, breaks me out of my thoughts. "Excuse me," I speak in embarrassment to the group and rush outside to the parking lot. Going to pick it up I notice Happy is calling so I instantly accept the call. He never calls me during meetings.

"Hey Happ-," But I am quickly cut off. Odd.

"Pepper," Happy gasps, "Get to the tower now!" The other end cuts off just after he finishes his sentences and I am in a panic.

Is Tony okay? Is SHIELD there? The Avengers? More trouble? Thoughts are flying through my head in a rush as I run to the car and go zero to ninety in twenty seconds. Please, please be okay Tony. I can't lose you to….

I arrive at the doors to STARK tower and I literally jump out of the car and sprint to the elevator, ripping off my heels in the process. Damn things. Pushing the '90' button, the elevator zooms up. Damnit Tony! Why'd you have to put ninety floors on this thing?

"Pepper! What's wrong honey? Where are your shoes?" Tony says quickly as I enter the living quarters in a frazzled state.

"Never mind the damn shoes! Tony what the hell?! Happy called me and told me to come to the tower! I thought you were hurt or killed," I say in a quiet panic, "Don't you do that to me! You know how I am with this stuff after…." I trail off, lightly slapping his chest; both of us knowing what came after that last word.

Tony's face saddens but he instantly pulls on a mask, hiding his emotions. "Tony-," And I am once again cut off. What is it with the interruptions today?

However, this time, the one who cuts me off is Nick Fury. "Ms. Potts, Mr. Stark."

Tony glances over at Fury and replies with a, "Hey Nick. Whatcha need this time? A new eye? Have you finally gotten tired of turning? Sorry but no can d-," I nudge Tony hard in the side and provide him with my favorite glare. He pales and I smirk. Never fails does it? Nah.

"Mr. Stark it is not the time to be joking. This is a very serious matter," Nick starts and Tony and I look at each other in bewilderment. Nick is always serious, but this time he looks slightly relieved, but horrified. What in the world…? "We have been consulting with the scientists, Doctors Oliver and Jenna Palmer over the past sixteen years. As you know they have been working to recreate the serum that transformed Steve Rogers,"

"Sorry Nick, but if you're here to preach to me about Spangles, of all people, then feel free to leave, I get enough of the guy already-," Tony fires back, clearly exasperated. I am too, so I don't say anything to him.

"Mr. Stark this has everything to do with what I am about to tell you. Trust me, you want to know," Fury begins again, "Now as I was saying, the Palmers have been working on the serum for the past decade and a half. As of this morning, we called them into Headquarters, but they did not show up. They always come when called, but for some reason they did not." Fury takes a deep breath and continues, "Some top agents and I went to check the scene and found something…unsettling. The Palmers had been experimenting on a person. They said no such thing about this fact, nor did we approve the use of humans in this endeavor."

Tony's eyes were wide and I am sure mine were the same. Practicing that torturous experiment on a person for fifteen to sixteen years? "That is barbaric!" I shout in disgust. Tony nods in agreement, his eyes huge.

The look on Fury's face terrifies me and I know he is not done with the story. "What we found further deepened our disgust and unsettlement. They were experimenting on an eighteen year old girl. One of which they had kept records and tabs on for sixteen years. In a folder holding all of the girl's files, we found more disturbing news," Fury closes his eyes temporarily and looks hard at Tony's eyes, "That girl, we found, was in fact abducted by the Palmers and held in imprisonment from that age of two to eighteen, her only freedom from her confines being the lab where they experimented on her. This girl… is Adalina Stark. Your daughter."

I collapse on the floor in a sobbing mess, Tony kneeling beside me, tears in his eyes. "M-my baby! Our baby Lina, T-tony! Sh-she-she's alive! Lina's a-alive Tony! She's alive!" Tears of fear and joy are cascading down my cheeks. Our child was beaten and tortured her entire life for something out of her control…but she is alive! "She's alive, Tony. Lina's not dead."

Tony is still as stone, silent tears running down his face, shaking hard. I grasp his face in my hands and shake him slightly. "Tony?"

"Peps, Lina's really alive? She's not gone anymore?" He looks up in wonder, hope, anger, and sadness. His face breaks my heart into and I let out another hard sob.

"Yes, she is." I reply, still astonished and crying hard.

Tony whips his head up and stands. Hands shaking, he glares daggers at Fury and states deadly calm, "Take me to my baby girl Fury. Take me to her now."

_A/N/2- Oh yes I did! I hope you like the chapter! Drop a comment, add a heart? I shall love you all forever! Any comments I get I will reply to. Questions, constructive criticism, anything :) The next chapter will be up no later than Sunday. Thanks again for reading and extra Loki shall give those who comment or heart a shout out next chapter! Bye now!_


	3. UP FOR ADOPTION

SKIP TO THE BOTTOM FOR INFO ON ADOPTION!

Hey all you wonderful people

As you have noticed, I have been MIA for the past year, unfortunately. At first I was just drowning in school work, but by the time summer came, i was totally ready to start writing again. That did not last long. In mid-June, my Grandma, whom I loved dearly, passed away unexpectedly. It hit me very hard. I did not know what to make of it or what to do. Then I get the news that i was the one who had to plan her funeral... that did not do wonders for my life either.

Since then I just haven't been myself. I promise you I have tried my absolute hardest to write so you loyal readers could get an update, but every single time I would finish a chapter, I realized it was no where near my best.

You all deserve my best. That I cannot give to you at the moment, unfortunately. I couldn't live with myself if the only updates I provided for such lovely people were short, dysfunctional pieces. I am so very sorry for all of this; the wait and suspense and everything. It is in no way fair, and I take all of the blame for it.

WITH THIS IN MIND:

I do not want Adalina's adventure to be over before it's even begun! She hasn't even met Loki for crying out loud. Shame, I know!

So... For the Life of Me is UP FOR ADOPTION!

Yes, you heard right! If you are interested in taking over this story, just contact me on here, or on my account. My username is Loki'sLittleEnchantress . If you choose to go about contacting me on ff, leave me a private message.

RULES:

1.) You must give me credit for what is mine (story line thus far, Adalina, the Palmers).

2.)You may change the title, and the plot line, but please stick to the characters and their personalities. You can tweak them a bit, but keep them close to their original selves.

3.) You must post the story on both Quotev and . I have readers that do not use both sites, so keep the piece on both locations.

4.) You need to have at least published 2 stories. These need to have at least 40k words each.

5.) You need to have the desire and drive to write this story and finish it. I do not want it to go to waste.

6.) Tell me why you are interested in taking up this piece and why you think you are qualified.

APPLICATIONS MUST BE SUBMITTED TO ME NO LATER THAN OCTOBER 15th AT 11:59 PM.

Again, contact me if you are interested. I will have the result posted no later than the 18th of October. Thanks, and much love.


End file.
